


taptaptap

by nanatsuyu



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm fixing That Scene, Idiots in Love, Kevin Day Needs A Hug, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Non-Sexual Intimacy, POV Kevin Day, Past Kevin Day/Jean Moreau, Soft Andrew Minyard, Soft Kevin Day, Soft Neil Josten, Understatement of the century, how many ways can i tag 'they never talked about it', if you squint really hard and know me personally, physical affection, spoilers: theyre all soft, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29649351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanatsuyu/pseuds/nanatsuyu
Summary: “It’s not a tic, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Kevin replies almost offended. “It was something my mother taught me.”“Your mother taught you to fidget?” Andrew interjects again, continuing to pretend he’s still reading. Kevin hasn’t heard the pages turn for some time.“No. My mother didn’t teach me to fidget.” If anything, it was how she taught him not to fidget.  He had always been a quiet kid. Where his mother was loud and commanded an audience; a younger Kevin was timid, voice lost amongst meetings and faceless adults all clamoring around a sport he knew nothing about and would eventually know nothing but.  “One tap: attention. Two taps: a yes. Three taps—”Kevin pauses, realizing that admissions are a lot like dreams: once he says this, he can’t ever really take it back.“Three taps was ‘I love you.’”
Relationships: Kevin Day/Andrew Minyard, Kevin Day/Neil Josten, Kevin Day/Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 34
Kudos: 173





	taptaptap

“I didn’t realize you knew morse code.”

Kevin barely registers Neil’s comment, focus trained on the television. This particular match isn’t the most interesting, or even all that important, but it’s a lazy afternoon and Kevin can’t help falling into something familiar during his down time. 

He doesn’t realize he’s waiting for Andrew’s response till the silence stretches a little too long. Neil hasn’t turned to say more, so Kevin casts a glance to Andrew, tucked into the corner of the couch, and engrossed in his book. He hasn’t spoken a word since joining them halfway through the game; a dismissive grunt and the sound of turning pages in lieu of a greeting. Neither of them minded: Neil extending an olive branch by turning down the volume, and Kevin letting Andrew make use of the space between his thigh and the couch as a personal foot warmer. 

Some days are easy like this. 

Andrew hasn’t looked up from his book, glasses on a slow descent to the end of his nose as he flips another page. Kevin has half a mind to comment, but then Andrew is nudging Kevin with his heel, a subtle suggestion to listen to the other half. Andrew’s eyebrow ticks up at the idea of not being immediately obeyed, and Kevin gets the hint to focus his attention elsewhere. 

Neil still hasn’t addressed them further and Kevin wonders if he’s misheard him. “Who are you talking to?”

“You,” Neil says without taking his eyes off the TV. He’s sprawled out on his stomach along the sectional, arms folded up under his chin. Neil’s sweatshirt— _technically Andrew’s_ —is hiked up a few inches, allowing Kevin’s fingers to rub small circles along the skin just under the hem. “Who else?”

Kevin can’t see the face Neil’s making, but there is a lilt in his tone that suggests Kevin’s been left out of some inside joke. “What does that mean?” 

“The thing you’re doing,” Neil replies, as if that’s a sufficient explanation.

Kevin wasn’t aware that he’s been doing anything at all. Andrew always says he has a one track mind when he watches a match, but Kevin likes to think he isn’t _completely_ oblivious to his surroundings. He looks down to make an inventory of his person: the hand not slowly inching its way up Neil’s back is thrown along the back of the couch, worrying the zipper of one of the cushions; his feet are propped up on the coffee table, posture slated for the next dictionary definition of lackadaisical. It still doesn’t click.

The only point of contact is in the circles he’s rubbing down the small of Neil’s back—not _normally_ an issue but— 

His brow furrows as he tries to bridge the missing connection. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Kevin starts to slide his hand out from under the hoodie when one of Neil’s hands shoots back to hold Kevin’s wrist in place. He keeps it there, turning to peer at Kevin from over his shoulder. Kevin raises an eyebrow at the gentle— _persuasive_ —but gentle hand guiding his palm flat to Neil’s back once more. Kevin doesn’t need to be told twice and returns to thumbing over the scar there. 

It’s round, clean in its execution. _A bad run in with the hot side of a muffler_ , Kevin recalls Neil trying to explain, breath hitching as Kevin murmured into skin pulled too taut, too early. He never pauses between the skips in healthy tissue, never wants to treat them like something shameful. Neil has never worried Kevin’s own hand in pity—only pride, and Kevin has always been honoured to return that sentiment. Kevin isn’t sure he’s ever seen someone worth more praise.

Well, maybe one other—but he’s currently busy upending Kevin’s thigh in search of warmth and refusing to acknowledge him.

When Neil seems content that his message is received, he turns back to the game. “Just wait. You’ll do it again in a minute.” 

It’s not a command, but a statement of fact and Kevin can’t help feeling a little lost. Andrew turns his page louder than necessary and Kevin glances over to find him peeking over the top of his book, glasses pushed up proper on the bridge of his nose. If Andrew is seeing more of the situation than he is, he doesn’t give away any clues. Kevin presses back into the couch, attention returning to the match in an effort to ignore the cryptic spoutings of his boyfriends.

Another few minutes pass and Kevin has nearly forgotten about the exchange entirely until Neil speaks up again: “That.”

“ _What?_ ” Kevin asks, tipping just over the edge of exasperated. 

Neil sighs, long suffering, and rolls over onto his back. There’s a smirk playing along his lips as he pulls himself up to crowd Kevin’s space. He places a hand on Kevin’s knee and taps three times with his index finger. There’s a beat, and then he does it again. “You keep doing it.” 

‘The something’ finally clicks.

Oh.

Kevin’s mouth pulls into a frown.

“It’s not morse code,” he says carefully, like that would give anything away on its own. He doesn’t want to make _this_ a thing, but Neil is watching him and he’s never been good at pinning his feelings anywhere but his sleeves. 

“I’m aware. I know morse code,” Neil replies easily. Kevin closes his mouth before the question can push past his lips. _Of course_ Neil would know morse code. “And unless you’re trying to type out SOS on my back—which, okay, might be useful when living with either of us—” 

Kevin makes a face and Neil’s eyes glint in that way that suggests he’s aware he’s succeeding in raising Kevin’s hackles. Lazy afternoons never could just stay lazy, could they?

“Why even ask then?”

Neil shrugs. “Curiosity.”

“Pretty sure that’s the leading cause of feline fatalities,” Andrew offers and Neil keeps grinning. Kevin isn’t amused by either of them. 

“And satisfaction brings them all back,” Neil says as if any of this is making sense to anyone but him. “When did you start fidgeting?”

“It’s not a _tic,_ if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Kevin replies almost offended. “It was something my mother taught me.”

“Your mother taught you to fidget?” Andrew interjects again, continuing to pretend he’s still reading. Kevin hasn’t heard the pages turn for some time. 

“ _No_ . My mother didn’t teach me to _fidget_ .” If anything, it was how she taught him _not_ to fidget. “It’s how we...communicated.”

He had always been a quiet kid. Where his mother was loud and commanded an audience; a younger Kevin was timid, voice lost amongst meetings and faceless adults all clamoring around a sport he knew nothing about and would eventually know nothing but. 

His mother recognized that early on, watched how he struggled to command that same attention. Rather than force him to speak, she came up with a different solution.

“It was our own language. One tap: attention.” Neil follows in demonstration, tapping along on Kevin’s knee. “Two taps: a yes.” 

Kevin watches the way Neil’s fingers thrum along the fabric of his sweats, a steady rhythm of duo taps against his leg. “Drawing an x was a no.”

Kevin had eventually grown into his mother’s personality: a roar born from a bark—an unwavering confidence to the point of arrogance. On good days, it amuses him how much living under Riko’s thumb fostered his need to wear that like armor. On bad days, it makes him wonder how he might have turned out with her still there to ruffle his hair and tell him to keep his chin up when he speaks.

Jean was never a fool. One act could see straight through another. Before they had Jean’s tongue, they had Kevin’s. It was more no’s than yes’s most days, almost to the point that Kevin wasn’t sure if there were any other words known between them. Kevin remembered wanting to press thrice, to remind Jean of something less than cruel, but he forgot what that had meant after so many years in the dark.

Really, he was surprised this wasn’t something The Nest had taken from him as well.

Halfway through drawing the x across Kevin’s knee, Neil stops, scratches it out like he’s playing in sand, and taps twice. He looks up expectantly as Andrew adjusts next to them. It makes Kevin acutely aware of the sudden shift in attention onto himself. Kevin isn’t sure how many cameras it would take to match the magnifying glass he now finds himself under, but he hopes he never finds out.

“Three taps—” Kevin pauses, realizing that admissions are a lot like dreams: once he says this, he can’t ever really take it back. It feels like a secret—a poorly hidden one, he’s sure—but a secret all the same. He could change the subject now, and they wouldn’t press. Neil would return to the game, curl into Kevin’s side and act for all the world like he had never brought it up in the first place. They were good at that—burying topics. Some subjects warranted time, others a lock and key. 

Neil crosses his legs and sits straighter, clearly sensing the conversation is no longer as light hearted as he intended when he began. Kevin idly taps the back of the couch three times. “Three taps was ‘I love you.’”

He imagines Neil looks thoughtful, not that his eyes are trained on anything but a small spot on the wall, no larger than a dime. They missed it when repainting earlier that year. It’s easier to see now that he knows it’s there—a small imperfection, but an obvious one. Kevin wonders if he’s the only one that’s spotted it. 

Andrew shifts under him again and Kevin knows that he’s foregone the illusion of being preoccupied, hazel gaze steady—one that Kevin refuses to meet.

They know now. They _have_ to know. What was saying it in so many words? Admittance was easy when there was no chance of rejection. Kevin’s confidence fell wholly in one or two areas of his life; three on good days. Now, it was like he was standing in that dreary hotel hall again, waiting for his father to answer the door and wondering whether it was better to get turned away as a player or a son—whether it was easier to get three taps back or none at all. 

A scarred brush of knuckles against his cheek pulls him from diving too deep. Neil taps the queen piece once and Kevin doesn’t voice how it burns. He wants to meet Neil’s eyes, but it’s hard to look at something that can see right through you. It’s exposing, undoing him in a way that even his previous words couldn’t. 

“Sounds like it stuck.” Neil says when he can’t quite reach Kevin. “You were still pretty young then, right?”

“Muscle memory, I guess.” Even Kevin doesn’t have an excuse for it rearing its head now.

“You do it a lot.”

He doesn’t want to hear this. “Do I?”

“Since moving in here.” Neil makes a flippant gesture to their apartment, light low and decorations sparse for a trio of have nothings—to all they would ever need. “Before that, too.”

Kevin frowns again, a mental note made to spend the entirety of his thirties learning how to school his expressions. 

Neil says this all so nonchalantly, like he’s known all along what Kevin was trying to say. He prefers twenty minutes ago, when his stomach wasn’t making itself cozy in his throat. “Why not bring it up?”

“I wanted to see if you would first. You only do it when you’re touching Andrew or me. Didn’t seem like much of a twitch.” 

Neil could be loud, obnoxiously so. The roar of a crowd couldn’t deafen their team quite like Neil could in play. Sometimes Kevin’s ears still rang after a shouting match over a poor performance. For attempting to stay under the radar his entire life, Neil never was very good at keeping his mouth shut or his voice low.

Kevin knows for certain, though, that the quiet way he speaks now is the loudest Neil has ever been.

Kevin doesn't chance a look at Andrew, uncertain of how this declaration looks reflected back. He keeps focused on Neil and even that runs the risk of Kevin’s skin crawling. 

“I don’t know why you’re making that face.”

“We don’t say things like that,” Kevin says too quickly.

“We don’t,” Neil replies with a nod, though it’s not dismissive. 

There are easier ways to say it most days. 

It’s making an extra cup of coffee in the morning before one of them leaves for work. It’s someone double checking the locks before bed. It’s putting Kevin’s keys back on the ring so he stops losing them every evening. It’s picking out a place with vaulted ceilings and plenty of exits. It’s never putting black and red together in combination for an evening out. It’s changing sleeping arrangements without question. It’s the compromise that the bedroom door stays cracked, never shut, and a light left on down the hall.

It’s in all the ways it could be said without ever having spoken a word at all. 

Maybe they were all a little loud.

“It’s not a bad thing, though.”

It’s always in the calm of such an easy resolution that the tension forms once more with a vice. 

“ _Yes or no_ , Kevin?”

German wasn’t his first, second or even third language, but it wasn’t hard to pick up on such a simple phrase—not when Andrew speaks the words in such a way that they would be obvious in any tongue. He knew their meaning long before _them_ became _us_ , questions asked in hushed tones he shouldn’t have heard. Courtesy was its own reward when he was still on the outside looking in. 

A phrase so simple should not be his undoing; but with one look and a pointed question— _a choice_ —Kevin lets go of a phantom pain he had been unknowingly clinging to for years.

That was the thing with phantoms, though, they’re always just out of the corner of your eye. Dancing in shapes and movements near imperceptible when the imagination is allowed to run free. Kevin turns to see a hand reaching for him, slow but with intent, blunt fingernails and a practiced steadiness to the gesture. 

He doesn’t have time to stop the way his body jerks.

If Kevin were to close his eyes now, he can feel the press of his fingers in the shallow dip of his collar, clinging like a lifeline; can feel the way Andrew dug in, as if the key to bringing Neil back lay buried in Kevin’s last breath. Sometimes he can still feel the mottled way the bruises healed, black and red and black and red. Kevin tries not to dwell on the possibility that Andrew picked the colors out himself. Sometimes he will pull at his collar, just to loosen it, fearing they would still be there—if maybe they were a permanent reminder of a secret he was meant to keep to the grave. Never his own, but a shared six feet. 

It’s less than a second, but his throat tightens all the same, apology pressing against his ribs when it can’t crawl out of his mouth. 

Andrew’s expression doesn’t change, hand frozen in place, maybe more for Kevin’s comfort than his own. There’s a twitch along Andrew’s fingertips and his hand falls away, ever careful. He only moves this way when something is wrong. 

When Kevin is wrong. 

Andrew doesn’t drop his eyes from Kevin’s and there’s the smallest pull at the corner of his lips that Kevin wants to draw an x across over and over and over.

Kevin knows Neil’s watching, can feel it in the way he _can’t_ feel Neil breathing next to him. 

Too late to take it back now.

Kevin breaks eye contact first. There’s barely a breath between the question and the response, but it’s deafening. Then Andrew is sliding off the couch, as if nothing has happened at all.

Kevin doesn’t try to stop him when he disappears into the kitchen. 

It will be a long week.

“ _Kevin_ ,” Neil says with an insistence, as if he’s been saying it far longer than Kevin’s been listening. He turns, an icy stare softening at whatever expression Kevin is wearing. “You never talked about it, did you?”

Kevin wants to be mad about that question. He can’t _not_ know. Neil can’t have missed that after all these years together. But maybe he had been just as hopeful it was behind them all. After all, wishing for something was a dangerous way to blind yourself in the moment.

They _had_ tried. Neither he, nor Andrew, would ever admit to the starts and stops; how bad they were at actually talking about _it_. 

_It_ hadn’t stopped what they have now and Kevin intends to keep it that way, but it seems every time something comes up—something like this—it feels more fragile than before. _It_ was an act born out of a need to save someone, someone they both cared for. Neil had made them both promise something he knew they both would keep, and ultimately shatter between themselves. Neil had no way of knowing that, but Kevin had. He doesn’t blame Neil for what happened—doesn’t blame _Andrew._ Even now. Courtesy may have been its own reward before _them_ , but Kevin lined his walls with trophies for cowardice. 

“It wasn’t for lack of want,” Kevin says softly, matching the quiet padding of feet from the kitchen. The only time Kevin had managed something close to an apology was when Andrew’s fingers were still linked around his throat. A litany of _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ , that never made it past his choked windpipe. “It just never came up.”

Neil knew it was a lie, and fortunately or not, he was ever the instigator. 

“In—” Neil, like the ass he is, counts on his fingers, “— _four_ years, you’ve never spoken once about it?”

Kevin hates the way he can still picture growing old with two cats and a dog with this man. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Tell me, Neil: How would you bring that up to _Andrew_ , of all people?”

_Sorry I almost got your boyfriend killed because he asked me to let him play with the big kids just a little longer._

“By talking to him.” It went unsaid what they both knew: Andrew would never bring it up first.

There’s the sound of cabinets opening and closing from the kitchen, either in earnest or in response to a conversation that was traveling too far. Kevin knows the latter would be worse, but knowing it might never be spoken of again twists something in his gut. 

“Unless,” Neil says after a beat, “you never felt the need—”

Oh.

“—You already forgave him.”

Kevin doesn't hesitate. “I did.”

Neil searches again for a lie, eyes flickering over the way Kevin is finally holding his gaze. When he can’t find one, he muses on.

“He forgave you too. You wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t.” 

Logically, Kevin knows this. Without a deal in place, it was a choice. _Kevin_ was a choice; a conscious want whether Andrew _wanted_ to admit it or not. Andrew does nothing he does not want and does not keep those around for whom he does not care. “Do you question whether or not Andrew wants you?” 

Kevin sees red for all of a moment before the ice in Neil’s eyes douses it. The question isn’t born out of disingenuity or scrutiny; it isn’t spoken aloud to rile Kevin up or doubt his own affections. 

Neil’s curiosity is surely going to be the death of both of them.

“No. Not at all,” he replies with more certainty than he expects of himself. Between stolen kisses and an attentiveness he knows now he can’t live without, where is there any room for doubt?

That doesn’t mean there isn’t an itch he can't quite scratch, a scar that stretches uncomfortably taught along his chest some days. 

“He’s afraid to touch me, Neil.”

“He was all over you the other day.”

Kevin shoots Neil a look. “You know what I mean.”

He lets his head fall onto the back of the couch, mimicking Neil’s earlier display of melodrama. Kevin feels another two taps at his wrist; a hand drawn question mark at the end. Kevin nods and Neil slides into his lap so Kevin can’t distract himself with anything that isn’t Neil. 

“Do you want my help?”

Kevin answers by running his hands under Neil’s stolen sweatshirt again, face burying in Neil’s collar. The lingering scent of cigarettes on a slow inhale has him relaxing minutely.

“Someone told me once that I needed to figure out what I want more than anything and fight for it,” Kevin murmurs without pulling away. "He was kind of a prick about it, though."

"I had some stuff going on at the time. Cut me some slack."

"That is, _literally_ , the greatest understatement of the century."

Neil snorts, but doesn't stop threading his fingers through Kevin’s hair, draining what's left of the tension draping across his shoulders like a second skin. Neil gives a small tug to Kevin's crown, dragging him away from the home he’s trying to make in the hollow of Neil’s throat. Neil lightly taps the queen piece again; three featherlight touches. “What do you want—”

“Can’t take you two anywhere.”

Andrew stands next to the arm of the couch, unimpressed with the way Neil and Kevin have curled around each other in his absence. There’s a mug of presumably cocoa in his hands, marshmallows threatening to overflow the lip if Andrew isn’t careful. Kevin isn’t sure why his hands tighten around Neil, but it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Thanks for making us some.” Kevin can hear the grin in Neil’s tone. 

Andrew sips on his drink to emphasize his selflessness. Though, the effect is lost when a bit of foam clings to the corner of his mouth. “You missed the end of your match.”

Neil leans out of Kevin’s hold long enough to find the remote, wiggling it at Andrew. “It’s recorded.”

“Oh, and _thank God_ for that.” Andrew moves back to his space on the couch, much to Kevin’s surprise. 

“You’re going to watch with us?” Neil asks, readjusting to press his back against Kevin, head tucked up under the other man’s chin. Kevin watches the time reset far longer than he assumes they had been talking. 

“No.” Andrew’s eyes are on the TV as Neil plays where they left off. 

He stays on his side for the rest of the game and Kevin doesn’t remember who wins.

  
  
  


—

  
  
  


It takes days for Andrew to come back to him. 

Kevin doesn’t have it down to a science or anything, but it’s happened often enough that he knows a week or two can pass easily without Andrew getting anywhere close to him. He makes wide arcs around Kevin’s body when they have to pass each other. Shared showers are on pause. Any common space feels calculated. Meals aren’t separate, but Andrew finds excuses to sit on the counter while Neil and Kevin take up space at the kitchen table.

Kevin usually takes the couch for the first couple nights; makes his own excuse for space; stays up to watch something because he can’t sleep. Sometimes, he does take a book he’s meant to catch up on. Most times, he stares up at that same spot of paint they missed like it holds the answer till he sees light creeping along the sill. 

Andrew doesn’t stop talking to him, doesn’t avoid him completely like Kevin might have allowed if the roles were reversed. The usual conversations are present, the biting remarks that have softened around the edges over the years. They know there’s something amiss but they know how to avoid discussing it too. It’s the usual song and dance for this particular hiccup— _familiar_.

The only difference is that they now have an actual audience. 

How they ever managed to get this far without, Kevin will never know.

Neil isn’t stupid. He’s seen the way Kevin and Andrew kept distance occasionally, brow furrowed in question, but unwilling for once to butt in. Now he knows, and Kevin wonders how they ever managed to keep it hidden for so long. Where Kevin counts the days, Neil seems to count every minute they don’t bring _it_ up. 

He watches Neil say goodbye to Andrew before he leaves on an errand, watches the way Neil hovers in his space without second guessing himself. Kevin knows he’s watching too closely when the brush of their fingers forces Kevin’s attention back to the article he has been trying to read for twenty minutes now. Andrew finally leaves and Neil joins Kevin at the table once more. A glance up shows Neil at least has the decency to look a little guilty. 

He knows better than to say that out loud though.

“Still nothing?” 

Kevin wants to bite, his third night on the couch leaving a kink in his neck large enough to warrant it. Not that his exile isn’t self inflicted. A foot away in his own bed feels further than another room entirely, though.

“You have eyes, Neil,” Kevin tries to bark, but it just comes out tired.

Neil doesn’t take the bait, nurses his coffee while Kevin reads the same line for the tenth time.

It takes less than a minute for Kevin to break.

“It feels like I’m refusing a gift,” Kevin starts, wishing for once that he knew how to keep his feelings a little more buried. They both know Andrew’s touch isn’t given so easily, his want for it returned even more guarded. Every time they go through this, Kevin feels like he’s losing ground they’ve tried so hard to cover. 

There’s two taps on the table and he looks up to see Neil waiting, expression purposely blank.

“I wasn’t afraid of him then,” Kevin says and it’s honest. Even with Andrew’s fingertips nearly fused with his neck, he couldn’t be afraid. Kevin never doubted Andrew or his intentions to follow through with a threat; but every road to hell was paved with good intentions. It was hard to be truly afraid when those intentions were for everyone else’s sake but Andrew’s. “And I’m not afraid of him now.”

Kevin pauses, trying to see where he’s even going with this, if he needs a destination or just someone to listen. 

“I forgave him. _He_ forgave me.” Kevin leans back in his chair and considers his next words. “I should be over it.”

“Kevin, do you still have nightmares about The Nest?”

The question startles him out of his thoughts surrounding Andrew. “What?”

“Do you still have nightmares about The Nest?” Neil repeats with the same even tone.

Kevin knows he won’t win against a human lie detector. “Occasionally.”

Neil nods, likely remembering the times Kevin has woken up in a cold sweat, rolling out of bed and speaking so quickly in Japanese that neither Andrew or Neil can keep up with his panic. “I do. Most nights actually.” 

Kevin winces when Neil’s expression gains that faraway look he’s come to see less and less, but hate all the more. Neil speaks rarely on his time there, and Kevin avoids bringing it up on even his worst days, happy to live in a world where “well adjusted” actually means something to either of them. 

“I still flinch if Jean brushes against my left side,” Neil continues, shrugging like it’s a normal thing to say about someone who visits every few weeks with unanimous enthusiasm. (Andrew doesn’t mind either way, and they take that for what it is). “That doesn’t mean I don’t consider him something close to a friend now.” 

Kevin has seen Neil smile with Jean, easy and carefree like their roads have only ever been laid in gold. He’s seen that crumble in a breath, Neil jumping back as if he’s been burned, excusing himself for a too early cigarette _without_ Andrew in tow. 

“Bodies are shitty like that. They don’t always ask permission before they react.”

“You’re probably right,” Kevin says after a moment.

“Can I get that on record?” 

“Absolutely not. I have a reputation to maintain.”

  
  
  


—

  
  
  


Neil insists Kevin come to bed that night despite his protests. There’s almost a striker shaped indent in the couch, if you squint, and he’s willing to bet by week’s end it could swallow him whole. 

Of course, Neil doesn’t like hearing that and drags him upstairs, pushing Kevin into the sheets and curling into his— _their—_ personal space heater until Kevin has no choice but to make himself comfortable or develop another kink in his neck come morning. 

It’s late when Andrew finally comes to bed, Kevin blinking awake to the sound of Andrew rifling through a drawer for a pair of sweats.

Andrew doesn’t acknowledge him as he plugs in his phone, Kevin watching as he looks around like he’s lost something. He comes over to the side of the bed, running his hand under the pillow closest, before pulling out another phone. He plugs Neil’s in next to his own and slides into the sheets, eyes flickering down to where Neil is tucked under Kevin’s chin, limbs tangled in a way that a crowbar might be required to undo them.

Kevin doesn’t look away when Andrew’s eyes meet his own. It’s easier in the dark like this. Everything feels a little fuzzy at the edges, like the distance between them might be imagined when the sun isn’t around to shed light on all the things they can’t fix in a day.

He wants to say something. 

He wants to tell Andrew what he’s thinking, that he hasn’t been thinking about anything _but_ him. That the idea of _them_ trumps any involuntary reaction his body might try to take from him.

A hand reaches up carefully to the pillow under Kevin’s head, and Kevin thinks that maybe he can stop counting the days tonight.

Andrew stops short, though, finger falling to the fabric and pausing to make sure Kevin’s paying attention. He draws a small x on the sheet, and Kevin hopes the crack in his chest is only loud in his own ears. 

Andrew doesn’t move his eyes away, catlike in the dark and Kevin isn’t sure what he’s waiting for. 

Does Andrew want him to go? Is this too close? A no isn’t a question. It’s not an answer or a fix and Kevin thinks a permanent place on the couch might be his best bet. He makes an attempt to move away, assuming on his own when the words don’t come. Neil snuggles closer after the initial parting, and Kevin freezes, torn between choosing one discomfort over the other. 

Kevin’s always been tactile, always needing a grounding touch; something softer than violence. When Kevin admitted to Neil earlier that he felt he was refusing Andrew’s gift, he really meant it. To want something so badly, and still react so violently against it was in each of their natures—but just because he understood it, didn’t mean he wanted to accept it. 

He could go. He could leave Neil to Andrew and Andrew to Neil as he’s done before. It’s practice in patience, in self control, and all the other bullshit he’s constantly spouting on the court. He can’t afford to mess up on either ground, be it in front of a crowd or two halves of his heart, but—

—he’s selfish. He always will be.

He curls back around Neil, sliding his hands over sleep warmed skin, tracing the scars along Neil’s back. Neil mumbles in his sleep and Kevin presses a kiss into auburn curls. 

It must look possessive, a display of callous want in front of the only other person he wants and would never ask more of, nothing more than he is willing to give. It isn’t done to lash out. It isn’t even done to prove a point. He doesn’t have the words to say this, doesn’t have the voice to express that Andrew’s always had a place, and always will, in whatever way he wants. Kevin thinks one day their rough edges will line up something close to loving and this will all be worth it. Every cut and bruise already is, after all. 

Kevin expects a raised brow, an unamused curl of a lip for not heeding Andrew’s first warning. He expects a look that paints Kevin’s petulance and self inflicted wallowing in hazel and gold.

What he gets is: Andrew.

He hasn’t moved, hand still flat to the pillow under Kevin’s head, eyes following the way Kevin trails his fingertips up and down Neil’s spine. He meets Kevin’s eyes again and it’s Kevin’s turn to wait. 

Then Andrew’s lips move in the dark: 

_Stay._

Maybe he’s not the only selfish one. 

Kevin moves his hand up Neil’s back, tapping twice to his shoulder, and Kevin knows Andrew sees without responding. 

He thinks he feels three taps against the pillow as he drifts.

  
  
  


—

  
  
  


"Keeping up with your Irish heritage?"

Kevin puts down the bottle and doesn't bother to side eye Andrew as he leans against the counter. He’s far enough away for Kevin to know that last night’s exchange hasn’t shifted anything between them.

"Someone has to," Kevin replies coolly, stirring in his whiskey—which he would have preferred _without_ commentary. He woke up with the expected knot in his shoulder from Neil’s need to cling to him like he could live inside his skin. Kevin isn’t complaining, but he does wish he had asked Andrew to stock up on ibuprofen last time he was out. 

Andrew lifts up off of the counter, moving past Kevin and over to the pantry. There’s a bit of rustling as Kevin waits for his coffee to cool, letting the domestic side of his mind wander to greener pastures where he won’t feel the need to start his day off so strongly. It’s not Andrew’s fault, nor is it Andrew’s itch to scratch. 

“It does wonders to say what’s on your mind,” Andrew fills the silence, still buried in the pantry.

Kevin _hadn’t_ been mad at Andrew.

“You should take your own advice some time,” he bites back.

Andrew hums and Kevin thinks it sounds smug. “If we were any good talking, we wouldn’t be here, now would we?” 

This conversation is pointless. Andrew didn’t have pointless conversations and yet, here he was. _No_ , he thought, _the point is to rile Kevin up._ Even without the pretext of a wildfire four years in the making, Andrew still managing to dig under Kevin’s skin with ease fills the space between his teeth with something coppery.

As he’s about to say as much, Andrew closes the pantry and then, more surprisingly, the space between them. Kevin knows he’s scowling, misplaced irritation falling squarely across his shoulders and threatening to bleed out over Andrew's if he stays here any longer. It’s the closest they’ve been in nearly a week and Kevin knows that Andrew counts the days too. 

“Say what you want.” 

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Have I?”

“Don’t be coy now. It doesn’t suit you,” Kevin says, straightening his slouch and gaining another couple of inches over Andrew. It doesn’t come off intimidating like he wants—never has.

Andrew looks bored before they’ve even started. “You’re the one who took the couch.”

“I _always_ take the couch.”

“Because you never bother to ask if it’s even necessary.”

Kevin laughs, a bitter sound matching the blood between his teeth he can’t quite swallow down. “As if it isn’t.”

“Use your words.”

Kevin looks for any hint of what that should be. 

He wants to mock Andrew, wants to tell him that Andrew only ever speaks in riddles. Neil seems to understand them perfectly well, and it always comes back to Kevin being on the outside looking in. Longing for someone to leave the door open—long enough for him to warm his hands—long enough to get a taste of something he can hold onto. 

What does Kevin even want to say? Does he want to talk about this now? Four years of stilted conversations around things they could have— _should have_ —resolved a lifetime ago? Dancing around the time they both thought they lost something with pointed fingers, not at each other, but themselves? Is there anything that _can_ be said to fix that? To fix _them_?

“What do you want me to say, Andrew?”

By the look that flashes across Andrew’s face, the question comes out with less venom than it took to think it. “Whatever has been rattling around in that head of yours for four years.” 

Kevin wonders if he should call Neil down to referee in a minute.

He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Andrew is prying his fingers off the mug, careful not to let the coffee spill over. He pours it down the sink, setting the mug back down and reaching up into the cabinet for another. Kevin watches him because he doesn’t know what else to do. 

All of Andrew’s movements seem more deliberate than usual, like they’re for Kevin’s benefit, and he can’t tell if that’s worse. His hand is right where Andrew left it, half gripping at nothing, but the trembling has subsided. His other is gripped knuckle white on the counter like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling through the floor itself.

Andrew decides Kevin is no longer useful, in the way that he is, and maneuvers him to the side with a dismissive wave. He starts up a new cup—sans the Irish additive. 

Kevin is speaking before he can convince himself to stop. 

"My want for you is not contingent upon whether or not I can feel you underneath my fingertips that day." _Want_ isn’t the word he means, but it’s the safer of four letter words that come to mind.

Andrew stops mid pour, sitting the pot back down. He isn’t looking at Kevin, and at first Kevin wonders if he’s somehow made the situation worse.

"I wish your insistence on saying stupid things _was_ contingent on whether or not I want to hear them that day.” 

“You asked,” he mumbles, flexing his scarred hand from cramping against the counter. 

Kevin wants to be mad, wants to be pressed over how Andrew can’t just say what he means yet expects it from everyone else—but then there’s a hand pressing a warm mug back into his own, curling Kevin’s fingers around the ceramic to ensure he doesn’t drop it. A gentle thumb rubs over a scar long since healed. Kevin loses steam just as quickly as he found it. 

“It’s your turn to say something stupid.” 

“Not now,” Andrew says simply. “Soon, but not now.” 

Kevin takes it for the promise it is.

  
  
  


—

  
  
  


Kevin’s waiting on Neil to finish his shower so they can get back to their movie. Andrew took the pause to go for a smoke and Kevin has been left to his own devices. 

A few days have passed and they still haven’t talked. Andrew moves around him fluidly now, the brush of an arm feeling less like a burn and more like a reminder of home. There’s a dark cloud hovering, but he can still see it, can still watch and wait for when he needs to prepare an umbrella. 

He can live with this. 

He can also live with being able to sleep in his own bed again. You don’t truly know how much you love something until it’s gone.

The front door opens and Kevin doesn’t look up from scrolling his phone, the familiar sound of Andrew dropping his coat on the table and shoes scuffing the doormat filtering into the living room. He thinks he hears the sound of a scoff and keys being hung on the wall, before the padding of feet into the threshold. 

Blunt nails scratch at the nape of Kevin’s neck and he hums, leaning back into the couch. It’s light, fingers spreading just the slightest to tug affectionately through the dark strands before they drag back down. A hand reaches down to rest on his shoulder as the other pauses on the back of his neck, just above his collar, and then:

Two taps.

An x.

A question mark.

Something warm settles in Kevin’s chest and he taps the hand on his shoulder twice without hesitation. 

Andrew removes his hands from Kevin, weight leaning off the couch. Kevin gets halfway turned to see him when Andrew speaks:

“Eyes forward.” 

Kevin furrows his brow, but does as he’s told. His eyes find that one splatter of paint and wonders if it’s worth going over. Maybe hang something in its place so he can stop philosophizing over it. Maybe it doesn't even matter at all. One hiccup in paint doesn’t change a home from what it is. 

Warm fingers wrap around Kevin’s neck and he freezes. 

They’re still loose, still featherlight. He can break away if he wants, can pull forward now and Andrew won’t follow. He’ll let go and Kevin will find his breath once more, but the hitch doesn’t come. There’s no feeling of his throat closing, no phantom bruises kissing colour into his collar. There’s no urge to pry away, no want for distance. He waits for them to come, and Andrew waits longer than that. Andrew makes no sign to move, nor to speak and put words in Kevin’s mouth as he tests the waters, ones Kevin is managing to stay above for the time being. 

Andrew taps once against his neck, and Kevin listens. 

Three taps.

Three _barely there_ touches to his pulse. 

Andrew repeats it on the other side, more confident on the second try—as if he was the one unsure.

He presses into Kevin’s skin again and again like a mantra, a quiet chant for only Kevin to hear. A language that they can both understand, one without the heaviness those four letters bring to people who crumple under the barest hint of kindness. A tap for every word they can’t say, a tap for every syllable and a tap for every letter that’s always just on the tips of their tongues. It sounds like a whispered vow, a promise. It sounds like—

—like an apology. 

Kevin places a hand over one of Andrew’s, and he let’s Kevin turn his head enough to press his lips to the inside of Andrew’s palm. It’s warm and calloused, and capable of more kindness than Andrew ever wants to hear. Kevin taps the back of Andrew’s hand three times, and hopes it's enough; hopes he can put everything he needs to say into three simple touches. He hopes they say: 

_I never blamed you._

_I’m glad you stayed._

_I hope I make you something close to happy._

_I’m sorry._

The hand on his neck returns to combing through his hair, and Andrew’s voice is soft as it presses into his crown, murmuring an assurance Kevin wasn’t even aware he had been missing: 

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to fix That Scene so I can sleep better at night. 
> 
> I also like to think Kevin grew into his voice, but some old habits die hard. <3
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY QUEEN. YOU'RE LOVED <3


End file.
